Savage, named after the ship captain, that brought the first group of settlers to this desolate point from England, Creedence Author Savage, was founded just sixteen years after America’s revolution that severed ties with King George III. It was a small backwater place. The settlement was surrounded by marshes that eventually opened up into the deep brackish waters of the Corioga Sound.

Its location was a blessing and a curse. While not technically an island, the whole causeway leading into the heart of the village could flood over if the water table was full and the weather conditions were right at high tide. This granted the village of Savage a sense of security. No outsiders could navigate the murky swaps and the local Natives had proven kind and even generous. The villagers and the natives that lived on the surrounding land were happy about that as they worked to keep the land bountiful and to stay respectfully out of each other’s way.

As it is wont to do though, Greed led to tragedy. While Savage prospered and grew, so did the town leader’s desire for more wealth, for more land. It was then they turned against their allies, the Natives, and began a slaughter. The Native’s fought fiercely and with honor, but in the end, their weapons were no match for the colonist’s gunpowder. The natives were eventually driven back, and the land was claimed by the Governor. It came with a price though. Three dozen or so people from the village were dead, and who knows how many natives perished. Their blood soaked the earth and caused the marshes to gleam with a faded red in places like the iridescent shine of an oil slick.

The following spring, the crops failed.

The fishing grounds became sparse.

The causeway flooded (and stayed flooded).

The few traders who dared journey to such a remoted outpost stopped coming. The higher waters brought more danger into the marsh. It wasn’t worth their risk.

So, Savage began to wither. Season after season marched by. Each passing month adding to the decay that enveloped the town. And so, it was for almost 150 years until…

Scout, fresh out of bed and bleary-eyed, opened the curtains on the window of his second-floor room. He’d gone to bed as soon as they’d made it in the previous night. Between not wanting to move in the first place and the flat tire delay, he was ready to fall asleep and forget the world.

He could hear the sounds of his family downstairs in the kitchen already. Outside the window, he could see a thin cove of beach, driftwood washed scattershot about. To the right, just down the way, were the first of the salt air beaten fishing shacks and boathouses. Every third or fourth one sported what was reminiscent of the old See Rock City-Esque advertisements with Larkin Development painted across the roof. They dotted the craggy inlet all the way to town, which was only about half a mile.

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Suddenly the smell of sea air filled the room. Scout’s eyes focused on something he’d not initially seen. Something was behind one of the pieces of driftwood.

It looked like a body.

Oh God, Scout thought. What is some swimmer drowned and washed ashore twenty yards from his new bedroom? He almost turned to grab his cellphone when whatever it was on the beach began to move. Slowly, dragging itself in a pained, stop-motion type of way, Scout found himself horrified and frozen. His pupils dilated; his breathing became shallow. The thing looked emaciated, half-covered in matted hair, and skin that seemed both slimy and scaley. Its head, or what might have been a head, began to turn as if to look up at Scout when there was a knock at his bedroom door.

Scout whirled around, his phone simultaneously falling off the moving box it was sitting atop. His mom was at the bedroom door. She didn’t seem to notice the cellphone hitting the floor and he would have wondered how the hell that happened since he was two feet away from it, but that thing on the beach…

He turned back to the window. The beach was clear. No driftwood, no seaweed, no creature. He blinked a few times as a surreal feeling washed over him. He realized the strong smell of salt air was gone. Now there was only the enticing aroma of syrup, bacon, and coffee.

“You ok?” his mom asked, but didn’t wait for a response before continuing, “Breakfast is ready. I think your dad, sister, and I are going to go into town and look around. Do you want to come with?”

Scout looked at his mom confused for a second before reality caught back up with him,

“Uh, no. I’m still tired. I think I’ll just hang here and unpack some of my stuff. Maybe go down and check out the beach.”

“They call that a spit, in these parts,” she said in a bad southern accent.

“Whatever.”

“Whatever. Whatever. Just come eat with your family then you can do what you want.”

“Sure thing.”

She left and Scout, confused as ever, went to pick up his phone. No cracks, he sighed with relief. The relief was short-lived though as the strange surreal feeling crept back over him. Timidly, he turned back to the window. The beach was still clear. Well, clear except for one solitary raven standing alone on the white sand. For a moment Scout was sure he and the bird were making eye contact. Then, the raven cocked his head quizzically, let out a caw, then took flight, disappearing up and over Scout’s house.

“What the fuck is going on?” Scout said out loud to no one.

Still unnerved, he shook his head while pocketing his phone and headed out of his bedroom and down to the kitchen for breakfast.